


Regret

by Vontar



Category: Leviathan - Scott Westerfeld
Genre: AU, Contemplation, F/M, Mild Angst, Some Romance, WW2 era, Where Alek becomes Emperor of Austria, some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 12:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12653940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vontar/pseuds/Vontar
Summary: Aleksandar von Hohenberg made his decision years ago. Now, on the eve of what may be a second world war in his lifetime, he finds that he may have made a crucial mistake somewhere along the way. How did he ever think that power was more important than love?





	1. Contemplation

_Bella gerant alii, tu felix Austria, nube._

That was _not_ Aleksandar von Hohenberg's destiny. A fateful turn was all that was needed to shift his future, and what may have been disappeared.

Alek sighed as he closed his journal, taking off his thin reading glasses and tiredly rubbing his eyes as he leaned back into his soft leather office chair. The heavy curtains in his expansive workspace were already drawn, the hour being late.

 _When did the world get so messy?_ Alek massaged his temples, eyes closed. No, it had always been this messy. It's just that he was now at the forefront of it all.

Such was the life of Aleksandar I, Emperor of the Austrian Federation. The stress that came with the job was only his payment in exchange for power over the thirty-five million souls that resided in the state that he was head of. Standing up, Alek walked over to the heavy curtain, pulling it slightly aside to view the snowy night outside. He placed a hand on the glass, feeling the cold permeate through the transparent material.

Things were… dangerous – yes, that was the right word. Who would have thought that in January of 1938, there would be cries for a union with Germany? _Anschluss_ – a word heard on many a Viennese street. Alek shook his head. How could it even happen? Such actions were explicitly prohibited by Versailles, and he hoped that the Western powers would intervene to uphold the treaty. Then again, with the economic situation as it was in much of the world, he would not fault them for a lack of focus on robust long-term foreign policy. He was an ardent voice against any political joining with their northern neighbor, but the tides of German and Austrian politics were against him, and as a constitutional monarch, there was only so much he could do, especially if the people's hearts were not with him…

Moving away from the window, he moved over to an extensive bookshelf that consumed a wall of his majestic office. Said bookshelf stretched to the high ceilings of the room and had collectibles and volumes that would make historians across Europe blush with envy. He ignored all of those. Instead, he honed in on a rather empty shelf, one that held only a single item; a picture, black-and-white, from days long gone. Alek stared at the picture for not the first time that day. In fact, he found himself staring at this particular photograph more in recent days.

A much younger version of himself looked back from the right side of the photograph, a wide smile playing on his face. It had been nearly twenty years since the photograph, and he could still remember the circumstances vividly. The war had just ended, and they had barely landed back in Britain, ready to meet the King of the United Kingdom pertaining post-war political matters. There was, however, a photographer in the hangar, selling his services to returning veterans of the Great War, and Alek enthusiastically took advantage of the opportunity.

Count Volger's stoic face peered through the framed picture to stare at Alek – he shook his head. How many years had it been since he had the privilege to talk with Volger? The poor man had passed away some five years earlier, a terrible case of pneumonia overcoming him. At least he had passed with the belief that Alek was safe and Austria's future was secure. Oh, what Alek would give to talk with him now, to ask him for advice. Alas, such was life – the dead were gone, and he could rely on their help no longer. Glancing one last time at the faithful soldier that stood behind Alek, one hand on his younger self's shoulder, he flicked his eyes to the left.

Dr. Barlow stood beside Volger, a dainty smile playing on her lips. He had never noticed it before, but she stood closer to the older man than he would have thought appropriate at the time. Then again, given the rumors about their relationship, he could hardly fault her. Maybe they had loved one another. At any rate, once the war was over, circumstances separated her from Volger, the latter serving as a chief advisor to Alek while she continued her research at the London Zoo. Alek looked up, staring at the intricate mural that adorned the ceiling as he tried to recall where she was now. He could swear that he had read one of her newest articles only weeks ago, so more than likely, she was still furthering her career. Was she happy? Perhaps she had found another man, though now Alek felt a twinge of growing guilt for tearing Volger away from Barlow, as unintentional it was on his end.

Swallowing slightly, Alek forced himself to look downwards from Barlow's face, his heart pounding as his eyes made the trek.

 _She_ stared back, bright eyes wide (it was almost as if he could see the bright blue through a black-and-white photograph) and a playful grin adorning her face. Her blonde hair was still cropped short, the war having just ended. She was leaning slightly towards Alek, and although she was looking at the camera, her body position was as if she had been looking at the then-prince just before the picture was taken.

Alek's heart throbbed again, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

 _Deryn_. Oh, how he had fucked up.

He held the picture in one hand, looking around his well-furnished and warm office. The motto of the Hapsburgs was written over the double-door entrance. Multiple awards and honors filled an entire wall. The curtains were made of the finest silk, and the rug under his desk was as expensive and high-quality as the hardwood floor it covered. All in all, the trappings of power, fit for an emperor that was head of state of one of the most powerful nations in the world.

At that moment, Alek would give it all – and far more – to be with Deryn again.

Was it worth it?

His simple answer: no, it hadn't been. But the young idiot that stared back at him from the photograph was too stupid to know, and he had made the worst decision in his life when the best decision had been staring at him in the face.

It was too late now – she would be, what, thirty-nine now? The same age as him. She had retired from the Royal Navy shortly after the war – though it was more akin to being honorably forced out – and had joined Dr. Barlow. Perhaps she was married now? Was happy with a loving husband? Delighted with children? Content with a stable home? Who was he to disrupt any of that?

Alek sighed, a turmoil of emotions raging through him as he limply held the framed photograph by his leg. He glanced back to his wooden desk, and walked over, pulling open one of the obscure side drawers. Inside was a stack of parchment. He picked up the topmost one, which was the newest.

 _My dear Deryn_ , it started. The rest was emotional gibberish to Alek, the same kind of thing he had been writing in various forms during various attempts over the better part of the last two decades. An explanation for such delayed correspondence. A polite question or two about her circumstances. A hypothetical about meeting up at some vague, arbitrary time in the future to re-acquaint.

He looked back at the her beaming face in the photograph, and a small spark ignited in him. Sitting down in his leather chair, he pulled out a pen and began to write, words flowing onto the parchment as he felt more inspired than he had been in twenty years.

 _What was this feeling_? Alek had no idea, but he still continued.

 _Love_? Perhaps. Alek had little experience in that department – many a noble lady had attempted to ingratiate themselves with the emperor of the Austrians, but none had managed to break his so-called "stone cold" heart. In reality, Alek found none of them to his liking. Every time he talked with a beautiful Austrian socialite clothed in designer dresses, he always found a certain short-haired blonde dressed in uniform in the corner of his vision. None of them could compare to her fire, to her spirit, and to, well, _her_.

He stopped writing, having come to the end of the letter, which now spanned three pieces of parchment. Blinking a few times, he signed it.

_Always,_

_Aleksandar von Hohenberg_

He blinked again. It had been many years since he had signed himself like that. A sentimental gesture, it had to be, harkening to times when he was but a simple prince awash in a world at war.

"No!" came a yell from down the hall and stairs outside his office, startling Alek out of his reverie. A short sputter – gunfire – followed, and silence reigned once more. Alek rose slightly, folding the parchment pieces into a small envelope before pocketing it. Another short spurt of gunfire followed, and then another, along with more yells from men.

Suddenly, his office door blew in, having been kicked open. Alek dropped behind his heavy wooden desk.

"Your highness!" came a call. Alek poked his head up from under the desk, recognizing the voice. His head of security, a loyal officer of some forty years of age, was there, along with three others of the royal guard.

"What's going on, Hans?" Alek asked, wincing at the sound of gunfire again, albeit now more distant.

"Assassins," Hans spat, looking around. "They had hoped to catch us off guard. We have pushed them back for now, but I cannot vouch for the long-term security of Konopiště. We must evacuate." Alek nodded, and he motioned for the man to lead.

"Where will we go?" Alek asked, the group cautiously making their way to the garage of the palace complex.

"There are numerous safe houses in Austria, but I do not trust them – the assassins were German," Hans quickly replied. "I recommend a foreign destination, maybe France or Britain or even America."

Alek thought for a few seconds as they made their way to a non-descript vehicle.

"We shall go to Britain," he announced. Hans nodded. Without prompt, Alek continued. "I have some business there, business that is long overdue." And as he said this, Alek felt the comforting weight of his letter in his coat pocket. He may as well deliver it himself.


	2. Juncture

"We must stand for what is right, not for those with might. We must stand against the tide, lest we be swept away by the torrents of fear and anger. Let us not be pushed back into senseless, bloody conflict! Let us remember that peace is what we must strive for – peace for our time!" The words echoed throughout the chamber, and all across Britain and Europe, many tuned in to hear the accented English of the Austrian Emperor Aleksandar I.

"Thank you for letting me speak today, and may we forever hold in our hearts the pains and losses of the Great War. Let us never forget the sacrifices that have been made."

With that, Alek stopped, finally stepping past the podium and looking at his audience. It had been a fairly lengthy broadcasted speech, some twenty-five minutes, and not only had he been presenting it over radio waves, he also had the luxury of presenting it live to the highest-esteemed members of the British government, including both the Prime Minister and the King of Great Britain himself.

"I must say, what a rousing speech," the Prime Minister said to him as Alek walked down amidst the applause. "Peace for our time – a wonderful concept, indeed." Alek smiled and thanked the man, moving past as still more members of Parliament came to greet him. Most congratulated him on his commitment to peace, to Europe, or whatever, but as the praise came in, Alek found himself losing focus.

None of this mattered. The British were not the Austrians, and they certainly weren't the Germans. It didn't matter if he had reached the hearts and minds of the British people, because they _weren't_ the Austrian people. He had failed in his duty to prevent his nation from losing its sovereignty to the increasingly belligerent and expansionist Germans, and no words he said now could reverse that simple fact.

Some head of state he was.

Eventually, he had met everyone that wanted to meet him, and the mass of people moved into a nearby ballroom, where a reception was held, complete with music and refreshments. Men and women of high class filled the room, and gossip began flying past almost immediately.

Alek snagged a glass of wine for himself, nursing it silently as he absentmindedly stood in a group of British politicians, pretending to listen to their jokes and banter. Around him, rumors flew past at lightning speed, and he could only hear snippets every now and then.

"… Neville has certainly lost quite a bit of weight…"

"Dear God, she's really pregnant?"

"Dreadful thing, that race. I had really hoped for Guinevere to win."

"Have you seen what Barlow is wearing today? It's absolutely hideous!"

At the last one, Alek's eyes widened, and he smiled at the group of people he was with.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," he kindly started. "I'm afraid I have an urgent issue." He pointedly looked at the drained glass, eliciting chortles of laughter from the assembled group. He slipped away, leaving his drained glass with a waiter before picking up another, draining it in a single gulp (much to the apparent admonishment of more than one woman, if the gasps were to be believed), and leaving that glass as well as he strode off.

Barlow – she was here? Of course, the granddaughter of Darwin herself would only be of the highest class, if by birth alone. But if she were here…

Ignoring that thought, he moved for the side of the reception, where someone like Barlow, intelligent and not one for the center, would be.

There. By herself near one of the emptier tables of refreshments, Nora Barlow was sitting in a small chair and enjoying herself with a plate of cookies. At fifty-two, she was considerably older than when he had last saw her, but time had been kind to her; she looked more proper than ever before, as befitting someone of the lineage of Darwin himself. The greying hair only served to heighten her authority and stature, and the wrinkles that formed around her eyes framed a sharp intelligence that was easily visible.

Those eyes fell upon Alek. For a few seconds, he felt like a fifteen-year-old boy again, lost in the world. Then he remembered that he was no longer fifteen, and that he was, if not de facto, nominally the Emperor of the Austrian Federation. He strode over to the lady, ignoring the looks and whispers that permeated the air behind him.

"Dr. Barlow," Alek began, but Barlow held a hand up to pause him almost immediately.

"I see you've finally decided that it was time to grace us with your presence, _your highness_." The accusation was not lost on Alek, and he quickly searched to find an answer.

"Well, you see, it's been a very busy twenty years. Austria was devastated by the war, and I've had no time other than for my work."

Barlow scoffed, and chowed down on another cookie.

"A likely story. Not even time for a _single_ letter." She put the plate down.

"You've some nerve to show up like this. Have you any idea what kind of pain you've caused her?"

Alek opened his mouth to respond, but a voice from behind him stole away any chance he had to retort.

"Here you go, Dr. Barlow. I've got the drinks you wanted." The voice was distinctly feminine, accented by a distinct lilt. A figure, shorter than Alek, came around him. "Oops," the figure spoke, nearly bumping into the pristine white uniform of the Austrian Emperor. "Sorry 'bout that." The figure placed both of the glasses in her hands down on the table, and turned around properly, beside Barlow, to face Alek.

Blue met green.

Eyes widened.

"Blisters," Deryn Sharp whispered, looking, wide-eyed, at the equally shocked visage of Alek.

"You bum-rag!" she suddenly yelled, halting the conversations near them as socialites turned to see the commotion.

"Where the bloody hell have you been for the last bloody twenty years!" Deryn's expression morphed from shocked to angry, and Alek had never wanted to retreat from the field of battle faster than this.

"Hello, Deryn," he weakly replied. "It's been quite a while, no?"

"Barking spiders, it's been two decades and _that's_ what you say?"

Barlow came up between the two, gesturing to the open-air terrace.

"I suggest you two take this outside." Nodding his head, Alek walked towards the balcony, Deryn closely behind him. Once they were both outside, Barlow closed the doors behind them, leaving them alone in the night air.

"Well," Alek said, breaking the silence. "I'm not sure what to say."

Deryn didn't turn around, instead opting to place her hands on the marble railing and staring out towards the cityscape of London. The wind gently blew past, and Alek blinked a couple of times as he took in her form.

She was still about the same height, though a pair of heels added to that. On the other hand, she had developed into her womanly form, and no one could ever mistake her for a boy now. The light green dress that she wore only accentuated her womanliness, and, accompanied by her now shoulder-length blonde hair, Deryn looked… feminine. It was a strange change from the Deryn of his memories, but not that odd, considering the time.

Finally, she turned around, letting Alek see her face in detail. If time had been kind to Barlow, it had been a genie to Deryn. She looked just about the same as she had when he had left. He knew that time, on the other hand, had not been nice to him, that the stress and weariness of his work had aged him beyond his thirty-nine years. He only hoped that she didn't care.

"You know," Deryn began wistfully, "I used to wish that you didn't leave. That you would turn, begin to walk away, but then come back." She chuckled mirthlessly.

"I thought that you cared more than that. I guess I was wrong."

Alek's breath hitched in his throat, and it felt as if he were about to choke. His heart gnawed at him as the emotional anguish he had felt for years boiled to the top.

"Deryn," Alek responded, his voice scratchy and hoarse. Deryn's eyes flicked up to his face, and he could feel his eyes reddening.

"I-I'm not sure what to say. It's been so long." Alek walked over to lean on the marble railing, not trusting his legs to have the strength to keep him upright. His breath came out in erratic patterns, his emotions becoming too much for him to keep in. It had been _twenty_ years, and he had been emotionally isolated for most of it. This was too much.

"I wished… I wished for many things over this time, but none more than…" his voice died in his throat, and Deryn looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to say the words that both knew were on his mind.

"I messed up," he began again. "I made the wrong choice. I thought I was doing this for the people, bu-but I really chose this to run away from my fear."

A pause.

"And what fear would that be?" Deryn's sharp tone pierced through the air.

A gulp.

"That I wasn't good enough for you."

She mirthlessly laughed once more.

"Bullshit. That's not it. You knew that I **loved** you, and you decided to run. If you didn't feel the same, then why didn't you fucking tell me!" Deryn grew more enraged as she worked herself up into an emotional frenzy.

"I loved you!" Alek yelled back, shocking the Scottish woman. "Gods, I loved you then and I love you now. I didn't run away because I didn't love you – I ran away because I was scared that it wouldn't work! Could you imagine the headlines then? Clanker prince with Darwinist commoner? We would've been torn apart by the tabloids alone!"

Deryn glared at Alek. "That's your best argument? I didn't take you for that kind of coward."

Alek exhaled, feeling his strength ebbing as he did.

"I was always a coward," he quietly replied. "I ran away from so much because I've always been scared."

Deryn was silent.

"I feel like it's too late now, but I have a letter." He scrummaged through his dress uniform's pockets, finally pulling out an envelope. Handing it to the woman, he turned around, facing the city in much the same way Deryn had earlier. Behind him, he heard the envelope being torn open and the letter within being unfolded.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

He concentrated on breathing as she flipped through the pages. Time passed, and he had no bearing for how long they had been out there, but finally, he heard the letter being folded up once more and placed back into the envelope.

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" Deryn's voice echoed past him.

"Indeed."

He turned around to see Deryn standing only a few feet behind him, her eyes brimming with tears.

"So many years," she whispered.

"So many years," he echoed.

Alek felt a tear fall down his own cheek – and then another, and another.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to-to try again? To start anew?"

Deryn inhaled, and exhaled one great breath.

"We aren't getting any younger."

The smile that he felt on his lips was foreign, so genuine and uncontrollable that it felt like he was about to split his face.

"Hello, my name is Alek. Aleksandar von Hohenberg. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Deryn's own face lit up in a smile, showing off the dazzling beauty that made Alek want to cry out to the heavens for God to turn back time at any cost. Oh God, why had he given her up?

"Hi, you bloody Clanker. I'm Deryn Sharp. Nice to meet ya."

They were just two people on a balcony. As it should've been, twenty years late.


End file.
